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A root slithered from a small tree potted to my right. I jumped out of its reach, but it chased me and wrapped an iron-clad grip around my ankle. Arion hissed at the bedroom door.
“Josephine!” Freya yelled. “Stop! He’s innocent!”
The root’s grip didn’t loosen, but it didn’t tighten either.
“Come out, and I’ll explain,” Freya begged.
The black door of the bedroom creaked open, and a tall, beautiful woman—presumably Josephine—stepped out. She wore a dark, shimmery dress that was oddly formal for someone home alone. The witch’s onyx hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her olive-toned skin radiated youth, but a small worry line creased between her bright green eyes—eyes that reminded me so much of Cady’s, I nearly gasped.
“How could you bring him here, dearest?” Josephine demanded. “He’s a Reid.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” I interjected, “but I’m not from a line of witch hunters. I didn’t even know you existed until today!”
“Is that so?” Josephine purred. The root slithered farther up my leg, until it wrapped so tightly around my calf, only pride kept my screams in check. Freya glared at me, and I recalled her order for me not to speak.
Maybe I should let her handle it.
“He couldn’t have done it, Goddessmother,” Freya argued. “He couldn’t hold his own against me. Mom could’ve killed him six times before he even decided to fight back.”
Her goal was to defend me, but damn. She might as well have proclaimed me neutered.
“But the blood,” Josephine argued.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Freya assured her.
“Child, you better!” Josephine scolded. “His family’s history…it’s not history to all of us. Some of us remember the Reids before their retirement.”
Josephine glared daggers at me. Her bright-eyed gaze might have been frightening if I wasn’t hung up on what she’d revealed. I blamed my shock for my idiocy.
“How old are you?” I asked.
I regretted the words as soon as they spilled out of my mouth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I knew better than to ask any woman that, let alone a witch.
Freya stepped in front of me. “See? He’s far too stupid to have killed Sybil.”
Considering she was several inches shorter than me, Freya’s body shield was comical, but it distracted Josephine. The older witch shook her head and sighed. When she spoke to Freya, her voice shook.
“You know I can’t protect you if the coven discovers what you’ve done, dearest. You’ve risked Debasement.”
“Debasement?” I asked. “What’s that?”
If Josephine had spat on me, it would’ve felt more respectful than her answering glare.
“Exile,” Josephine answered. “Or worse, an undignified death—one that ends in torment.”
Chapter Six
Freya
I was tempted to strangle my goddessmother.
“You knew this?” Walker asked, “when you…”
I’d never intended for Walker to discover exactly what I risked by sparing him. Already, he thought he owed me, which he didn’t—it was written clearly across his face, but I saved him as much for myself as I had for him.
